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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26079955">The Cowboys of LA: A Red Dead Redemption 1950's AU</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlamoDraft/pseuds/AlamoDraft'>AlamoDraft</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Red Dead Redemption (Video Games), Red Dead Redemption 2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1940's, 1950's, 1950's AU, F/F, F/M, History Change, M/M, Multi, World War II, world war two au</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 02:54:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,258</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26079955</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlamoDraft/pseuds/AlamoDraft</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Howdy, my fellow outlaws! I have been working on this for quite some time, so I decided to share it. There is still a lot left to do, but in the meantime here are the chapters I have written down. Also yes, I know Arthur wasn't there for the Blackwater job, so bear with me if there are any game lore errors. Since this is an alternate time, there, of course, will be some changes to the story in order to align it with the time period. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! </p><p>Have you ever wondered what Red Dead would be like based in the 1950s? Well, look no further because here you are! All your favorite characters have undergone a transformation into bombshells and gangsters. The present timeline is set right after World War Two, so this story will study the after-effects of the war on our characters. In the original story, none of the characters with the exception of Bill and Pearson had served in the army or any of the forces, but of course, things are drastically different in this. So if you wanted to picture Arthur and John in handsome military uniforms, then this is the story for you! There are mature themes peppered in here, so just a fair warning.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Abigail Roberts Marston/John Marston, Bessie Matthews/Hosea Matthews, Eliza/Arthur Morgan, John Marston/Original Character(s), Kieran Duffy/Mary-Beth Gaskill, Mary Gillis Linton/Arthur Morgan, Mary-Beth Gaskill/Arthur Morgan, Molly O'Shea/Dutch van der Linde, Susan Grimshaw/Dutch van der Linde</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Beginning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>   The 1950s, the time of silver screen divas and villainous mobsters, a modernization of the Wild West in a sense. After the end of World War Two, America was left in disorganized shambles, trying desperately to dust itself off. War had turned many good men into killers, and some men had a hard time letting that part of them go. This statement rang true for the men who formed the Van Der Linde gang. A group of treacherous outlaws who fought with rival gangsters over Los Angeles. They were hardy men, many coming from rough backgrounds, in search of a better life.</p><p>     A well-spoken and sly leader, Dutch Van Der Linde, had promised these young men better lives as long as they maintained loyalty to him. Dutch’s followers were often farm boys, their families losing everything during the Depression and the Dust Bowl. They’d traveled to California in search of work, but instead, they went down the path of criminality. Rival gangs called them cowboys and hicks, finding their lack of literacy and intellect amusing. Their doubts of the gang were quickly subdued, for what they lacked in brain they made up for in ruthlessness. Dutch’s boys made it known how truly dangerous they were, often pushing their weight around and making off with large scores. Over a short period of time, they were running some of the biggest establishments in L.A, the LAPD already a slave to their deep pockets.</p><p>                         Dutch outfoxed the other gangs, taking advantage of the influx of fame-seeking young women. Every girl in her teens to late twenties wanted to be the next Rita Hayworth, some coming from the other side of the nation to try their hand at stardom. Strategically, Dutch sent out his boys to the train stations, picking out girls and promising them the opportunity to become the next big thing. This, of course, wasn’t the case, for Dutch made a large sum of his profit off his secret chain of brothels. Gullible out of town girls were the perfect target, and the Van Der Linde gang had their ways of turning good-natured Christian girls into degenerate whores. Things were going their way, for now.</p>
<hr/><p>       Several of the Van Der Linde members were occupying their night club “The Blackwater Ferry”. They were doing their usual rounds, ensuring things were running smoothly. Senior gun, Arthur Morgan, sat at the table nearest to the exit, puffing on a cigarette as he studied the room. While Arthur took the job seriously, his fellow gang members were goofing off instead of keeping a watchful eye. The Callander brothers were flirting hard with the showgirls, Bill, Javier, and Sean consumed by poker, and of course, John Marston was too liquored up to know what day it was. Nothing truly awful had arisen during the occupation of “The Blackwater Ferry”, but Arthur never let his guard down.</p><p>      “Arthur, do you think this dress looks good enough for the stage?” Young Jenny Kirk pried, looking anxiously between Arthur and the stage. Arthur gave her a once over before leaning back in his chair, “You have nothing to worry about Miss. Kirk. You’ll do great up there, as per usual.” She gave him an appreciative look, but her nerves still did not give way. Dutch had finally granted her the opportunity to sing at his prized nightclub, and she did not want to mess it up. “Oh, I do wish Lenny were here.” She clutched her silver necklace. Arthur took pity on the lovestruck girl, wishing Dutch had swapped John out for Lenny, and not just for Jenny’s sake. “I’m sure he’ll be here for the next time.” Arthur assured. She didn’t pry her eyes from the stage, stiffening when the announcer called her name. “It’s time Arthur! Oh goodness, it’s time!” She exclaimed. Arthur stood up from his seat, placing his hand on her shoulder, “You’ve got an amazing voice, darling. You have nothing to be afraid of.” Her eyes bounced nervously across his face before finally settling. She gave him a kiss on his freshly shaved cheek before taking her place on stage.</p><p>          Arthur sighed in relief once she began to sing "You Belong to Me", settling back down in his chair as she serenaded the audience with her voice. Unfortunately, poor Jenny didn’t have long to sing, for the doors of “The Blackwater Ferry” swung open to reveal a squad of vigilantes. These were new lawmen on the block, ones Arthur had never seen before. “Nobody make a move! Or every single one of you will be leaking lead!” The leader of the group snapped. “We are looking for the degenerates that run with the Van Der Linde gang. This can be quite peaceful if you all just come along quietly.”</p><p>       Before Arthur could do anything, Mac Callander shot one of the vigilantes, resulting in absolute hellfire. Bullets whizzed through the air striking the innocent and the guilty; people screaming and ducking for cover. Arthur had managed to find safety behind the bar, unsheathing his gun from his shoulder holster. He fired on the vigilantes, but to his dismay realized how fruitless his efforts were. This new batch of “lawmen” were determined to bring them in, whether they were alive or dead. Criminals of their caliber didn’t get sent to everyday prisons, they were shipped off to Alcatraz to never be heard from or seen again.</p><p>     Arthur started trying to instigate a retreat, calling out for his fellow gang, but he’d soon learn how massive of a toll these vigilantes had cost them. Davey Callander laid dying on the night club floor, surrounded by glass and blood as he tried to crawl for safety. Mac was nowhere to be seen. John had found cover behind a table, but his dominant arm had been shot all to hell. However, the biggest blow of all was a dead Jenny Kirk lying lifeless upon the stage. Her emerald dress desecrated with bullet holes.</p><p>      Enraged, Arthur shot down two more assailants before rushing to Davey, pulling him out of the line of fire. Behind the new cover spot, Arthur spotted the backdoor, and he shouted, “Marston! Williamson! Javier! Sean! GET OVER HERE!” Those who did hear him made a mad dash to the exit, following Arthur with Davey hoisted over his shoulders. When Arthur made it outside, only Bill and Javier had made it out with him, but the three could not wait around any longer for the others. Police sirens blaring in the distance.</p><p>           Back inside, the fighting had ceased, for the vigilantes had caught some of the Van Der Linde gang: Sean and John. “Where’d that other one go?” One of the men inquired, searching for Mac. “Don’t worry about him, I’m sure Rob will catch up with him eventually. For now, we need to teach these two a lesson, don’t we?” The leader smirked, grabbing Sean by the collar of his white dress shirt.</p>
<hr/><p>          Tied, gagged, and blindfolded, John and Sean were trapped in the trunk of the assailant’s car, helplessly awaiting what was to come. When the trunk opened, the sounds of snarling dogs and uncomfortably bright lights overcame the two men. Their bodies were forcibly dumped upon the hard ground before being hoisted onto their feet. When the blindfolds came off, a dapper man with a cigar stood in front of them, two pairs of barking German Shepherds held by handlers on either side of him. “Ah, well if isn’t the wannabe cowboys of Hollywood. What an absolute pleasure.” He mused, blowing smoke into their face. While Sean looked petrified, John remained stoic and fuming, but then again alcohol has a tendency to make even the most chicken of men brave.</p><p>         “My boys and I have been looking for you, sad dear Mr. Morgan and Mr. Van Der Linde weren’t here to join us on this fine night. Maybe you two might have an idea of where I could find them?” The two stayed silent, unwilling to spill the beans.</p><p>       Disgruntled, the man blew smoke once more in John’s face, finding it entertaining to see how much it genuinely pissed him off. “You better quit, friend or else we’re gonna have a problem.” John spat. The man chuckled from his anger, infringing even more upon his personal space before blowing another cloud of smoke over John. That was the last straw for Marston. John head-butted the man, sending him onto his backside. He took the opportunity to elbow the goon holding him in the gut, releasing himself from the captor’s grasp before booking it across the field. Anxiously, Sean called for John, terrified of being left alone.</p><p>                 Their captors had prepared for this, and there would be hell to pay on John’s end for his escape. The handlers holding back the salivating shepherds released them, the dogs hot on John’s trail before he even knew it. Not only was John injured, but he was also still coming off being drunk, two factors which did not increase his chances of escaping a pack of angry dogs.</p><p>            One of the dogs clamped down on his leg, bringing him down like a wolf would a stag, allowing the other dogs to begin the brutal act of mauling him. Sean had to turn away from the scene, shaking to hear his friend’s ugly cries and screams as the dogs tore him apart.</p><p>              With his hands still bound, John could only wriggle and thrash under the clash of teeth. However, the worst blow of all came when one of the dogs started attacking his face. The dog’s teeth raking across his cheek as he called desperately for help. Terror swept over him, wondering if this would be how he died.</p><p>            Suddenly, several shots rang out, scaring away the dogs from continuing their maiming. “Run John! Run!” Mac yelled, firing at the dogs and taking the attention of the vigilantes once more. Adrenaline was John’s friend that night, getting him to his feet and helping him dash into the neighboring wood. Chunks of his cheek grotesquely hanging off his face. He could hear more gunshots behind him, but his only motivation was to keep running. The rest of the gang needed to know what had transpired, hopefully, before it was too late for all of them.</p><p>                After what felt like an eternity, John found his way back to the compound; his body failing him as he limped toward the main house. Suddenly, the door swung open, many of the other members rushing to him. Dutch’s right-hand man, Hosea, got to John first, trying to hide his shock from gazing upon John’s maimed face. Others were less subtle, Tilly and Karen, two runaway girls, did not hesitate to gasp and scream at the sight of him. At the moment, he didn’t care, all of them turning into noisy blurs as he finally passed out from the trauma.</p><p>           “Arthur, you get him inside. I’m going to get the vet, he still owes us money.” Hosea ordered. Arthur steadied Marston’s battered body, “The vet? He needs a doctor, anyone can see that!” Hosea stopped in his tracks, “What is a doctor going to say about all that? We are in deep shit right now Arthur! Whatever transpired tonight should not have happened! We need to lay low, and that bastard of a vet is too high off horse tranquilizers to know the difference between a man or a horse’s ass.” In a rush, Hosea got into his car, speeding off down the gravel road toward the town.</p>
<hr/><p>            The turbulent night dragged on, still no word from Sean or Mac, leaving the gang in a constant state of unrest. Hosea brought the vet to stitch John up, but the man had done a poor job on John’s face leaving behind permanent damage. Before the quivering addict of a vet left, the Nazi defector, Leopold Strauss, made sure to inform the vet of his resolved debt.</p><p>        When daybreak finally appeared over the horizon, the sound of Dutch’s car pulling into the compound alerted the others. Within seconds the powerhouse of a man barged in, his new side piece an Irish woman by the name of Molly O’Shea trailing behind him. Alarmed to see John laid out on the couch in absolute ruin, Dutch could not muzzle a gasp, “Oh, my boy.” John had yet to wake from his terror-filled night, his body craving rest in order to regroup. “What happened?” Dutch demanded, shooting daggers at Arthur and Hosea.</p><p>     After explaining to Dutch and the rest of the gang what happened, Arthur needed to step out for a bit, walking outside to take a smoke. Young Lenny had beat him to it, sitting on the swing he’d built for the youngest member of the gang, Jack. Instead of smoking, Arthur approached Lenny, knowing he had taken the news of Jenny dying very hard. “Hey, you ok there, kid?” Arthur put his hand on Lenny’s shoulder. He didn’t speak, fearing if he did he might break down into tears. “I’m so sorry, Lenny. I really am.” Arthur sighed, figuring it best to leave young Lenny with those words.</p><p>          Back inside, the rest of the gang feverishly waited for John to wake up, dying to know what happened to him. Abigail, John’s previous summer fling and now mother to his first son, sat closest to him, fearing he might not ever wake up. Their son, Jack, was in the care of the gang’s matriarch, Susan Grimshaw, allowing Abigail to let herself be truly vulnerable. John had left the gang for a year, and she didn’t want to lose him now after just reuniting with him.</p><p>      “He’s going to be fine, Abby. I promise.” Dutch squeezed her shoulder. She could only nod, tears rolling down her face. Then as if Dutch’s words were God’s, John started to stir on the couch, his eyelids prying themselves open to expose his blood-red eyes. Abigail straightened, quickly dabbing her tears away, making sure to leave no trace of her emotional turmoil. “John, son? Can you hear me?” Dutch called leaning down. John could only nod to Dutch, painfully sitting up and looking around a still blurry room. “John? Answer him dammit.” Abigail nervously pushed, just wanting John to be better already.</p><p>     To John’s horror, his eyesight didn’t seem to improve much on the right side of his face where he had received the most damage. However, he wasn’t going to expose the fear he felt overwhelming him, “Can I get a cigarette?” Dutch urged Javier for a cigarette, obediently Javier did so along with a light for John. “John Marston, this is no time for smoking! Tell us what happened!” Abigail snapped, her anger masking her own concern.</p><p>         John took a shaky drag of his cigarette, the sensation of dogs tearing through his flesh coming back to him in a violent way as he recalled last night. “They still have Sean…and I don’t know what happened to Mac. Took Sean and me to a field, fixing to probably bury us there if we didn’t talk. So I ran, and the bastards sent their stupid mutts after me.” John explained the best he could. Abigail let out an exasperated sigh, “You are a fool, John! What were you thinking outrunning a pack of do-“ Dutch stopped her tangent, “Son, do you know if Sean is still alive? Who were these men? What did they want?” John only shook his head, unable to give the answers Dutch hungrily sought. The lack of clarity sent Karen into a whirlwind of emotions, and she excused herself from the room with Tilly, a farm girl turned gang member, in tow.</p><p>            From what John could see, he felt guilt wash over him, wishing he could give them closure on what all went down. “I need to use the bathroom.” John started lifting himself off the couch, sensing the discomfort of fresh sutures for the first time. When he put weight on his right leg, he nearly fell forward, but Dutch thankfully caught him. “Here use this.” Dutch picked up his cane, something he only used for show. Embarrassment washed over John, feeling as if an old man had taken his place as he limped down the hall.</p><p>      During the gimpy and painful walk down the hallway, John felt eyes on him the entire time until he closed the bathroom door behind him. The moment his eyes hit the mirror, he saw a monster in his stead. Some might have said it was the manifestation of the evil which lived inside every one of the Van Der Linde boys.</p><p>              A wave of emotion hit him violently, he didn’t even look like himself anymore. The gashes lining his cheek a repulsive and grisly sight. John had been one of the playboys of the gang, seducing, and charming women whenever necessary for a job. Now, any sane woman would faint at the sight of him. The emotional toll wasn’t the only thing eating him up, for the vet had done a terrible job with his sutures. With every movement on the right side of his face, he could feel the stitches shift and tighten.</p><p>         His right eye was easily the worst part, a deep cut around the socket had damaged his eye significantly. The natural dark grey color starting to turn a ghoulish white, making him look like something out of a James Bond novel. He would have to wear an eyepatch now or find a mask to cover the entire right side of his face if he wanted to hide it. </p><p>       Rage, fear, and anguish all battled inside him as he came to terms with the new John Marston, this deformed creature who now stared back at him in the mirror. There was no hiding the type of man he was now. Those wolves for dogs had done a number on him, branding him as the savage he was.</p><p>        On wobbly legs, John reentered the living room, avoiding eye contact with everyone as he sat down at the table. “Did anyone else get hurt?” John asked playing with the bandage around his hand. Dutch answered his question, “Yeah, Jenny and Davey…neither of them made it.” At the time John wished he’d died with them, yet in the back of his mind he knew he’d been one of the lucky ones.</p><p>        Then the doors suddenly swung open, and none other than Micah Bell entered the room holding a package under his arm. “Micah! Where have you been?” Dutch boomed. One of their newest and unpredictable members, Micah, was supposed to watch the nightclub with the rest of the gang last night, but Arthur had noticed him skip out mere minutes into his shift. “Dutch, you’ve got bigger fish to fry.” Micah opened the box, revealing the severed head of Mac with a note grotesquely placed in his mouth.</p><p>         Due to all the commotion, Grimshaw opened the door to see what the fuss was about, little Jack trailing behind her. “What on earth?” She gasped, staring at the gruesome sight in disbelief. Before Jack could see the carnage, Abigail swiftly picked him up, pushing his head into her shoulder. “You need to do something about this. You all do!” She shouted before rushing back into Jack’s room.</p><p>        Arthur returned to the main house, shocked like everyone else to see Mac’s head in a cardboard box. “And where have you been?” Micah hissed. The senior gun stared Micah down, figuring he shouldn’t waste his breath on him. Arthur plucked the note from Mac’s lips, reading it aloud to everyone in the room, “We have Sean McGuire in our custody, and implore you to make the right choice. Give up Dutch Van Der Linde, and we will spare Mr. McGuire. You all have until Sunday to make the right choice. Meet us by the docks.” Infuriated, Dutch slammed his fist onto the table, “How the hell did they find us?” Micah straightened his waistcoat, “Dropped it off at one of our bars, Dutch. Nearly sent Miss. Madge into a full-blown heart attack when she found it.” At least they hadn’t found their compound.</p><p>          “I’ll kill em. I can do this Dutch let me go after them.” John demanded attempting to stand. “No offense Scarface, but I think the dogs have had enough puppy chow for the week.” Micah sneered. John tried to swing a punch, but his bad leg almost had the floor deck him instead. “There is no time for this nonsense! The both of ya!” Arthur got in the middle of the two men. Finally, Dutch stepped up to the plate, “We are going to get Sean back and teach those boys a lesson. They clearly have no idea who they are dealing with. But in the meantime, John, you’re going to rest up. We don’t need to lose anyone else.”</p><p>         Dutch’s words stung, bringing about unbridled fury in John. He abruptly slammed the chair down, hobbling outside of the main house cussing up a storm. Both Arthur and Dutch found the act childish and unproductive, the two exchanging a disappointed look before carrying on with their plan-making.</p><p>           The subordinate members of the gang were in disarray, some of them new to the turbulent world of crime. While Arthur, Dutch, and Hosea began to debate, the lower members found themselves amiss, still grieving over the sudden loss of their friends. A massive war had just ended, yet they were still losing people they cared about.</p><p>                 Meanwhile, Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur fell back into their militaristic roles, accepting the mentality back with open arms. They had seen plenty of men die on the Western Front and the Pacific. To the three men, death and loss were a natural occurrence. War had mechanized them, forcing them to bury and ignore the instinctive emotions of a normal individual.</p><p>      Arthur and Hosea were sent to the European side of the war, drowning in the hate which consumed so many. While Hosea obtained officer status due to his education, Arthur had been thrown into the pits of the front line as an enlisted soldier in the army. For Hosea, the burden of leadership forced him to make decisions that haunted his every dream. The faces of the boys he sent into gunfire forever etched into his mind, unlike Dutch and Arthur he let the guilt of his actions get to him. His anguish taking a massive toll on his health in the form of constant smoking.</p><p>             Cigarettes were a security blanket for Hosea, relaxing him and temporarily glazing over the sorrow he woke to every day. Often as he smoked, the other members would notice the unstoppable quivering of his smoking hand. Despite it all, he kept a brave face, never wanting to let the ones he cared for down. Even with the draining hardships in his life, Hosea remained kind yet firm, taking up a father role for many of the young men and women in the gang.</p><p>         In a way, parenting these band of runaways and misfits brought him resolve. He cared for them the way he would have the soldiers under his command, many of his soldiers becoming sons to him in the typically short time he knew them. For Hosea, he took each death excruciatingly hard, feeling as if he was a father constantly burying his sons. During the war, he had constantly fretted over the possibility of his pseudo sons, Arthur and John, perishing in the hellfire of war. Sometimes he would see traces of them in the boys under his command, only sending him into further turmoil.</p><p>             For Arthur it was an act of self-preservation to shut off his humanity, finding himself overwhelmed with any sensation of sentiment. He had seen the worst of people, but nothing could have prepared him for when he entered the gates of a German concentration camp. Arthur and his platoon took on the morbid task of burying the mangled bodies of the dead. To Arthur people had no redeeming qualities, so he found solace in animals. However, his preferred method of comfort came in the form of alcohol. Without his best friends gin and whiskey, the horrors of what he witnessed came flooding back.</p><p>    On the other hand, Dutch was the poster boy for the perfect soldier: ruthless and robotic. Like Hosea, his higher education granted him officer status allowing him to utilize his natural ability to lead. He had been a great soldier, doing everything asked of him without a second thought. Dutch was an opportunist, utilizing the chaos of war to his advantage which eventually led him to Herr Strauss. Strauss was a prisoner of war, despite being a defector of the Nazi party. The two men had met during an interrogation, later leading to Strauss begging Dutch to spare him. Being the bargaining man he was, Dutch couldn’t pass up the opportunity to have his own indentured servant, knowing he had hardly anything to come home to after the war. Tediously, Dutch prepared to start fresh upon returning to America, wanting to truly strike it rich with his friend Hosea and his sons.</p><p>      There was much to be done, leaving little time for the leaders to explain to the others what was to come. In hopes of calming everyone’s nerves, Dutch instructed Arthur to inform everyone that things would be explained over dinner.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Mary-Beth Gaskill</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Well if you are reading this, then hopefully you've made it through the first chapter, if not then damn you're probably very confused right now. Things are certainly chaotic for the Van der Linde gang currently, let's check to see how Mary-Beth feels about the events of the last chapter.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>      Anxiously, Mary-Beth toyed with the locket around her neck, uneasy over the acts of violence which had shaken up the entire gang. She had migrated to her room, trying to write in her journal in hopes of easing her rampant thoughts. Suddenly, a knock came at the door, and she hated how much the simplistic action had made her tense. “Who is it?” She did her best to sound fierce. Then the gruff voice on the other side of the door responded, “It’s Arthur, can I come in?” Her heartbeat quickened slightly; like many of the other women in the gang, she had formed quite the crush on Mr. Morgan. “Yes, of course!” She hurriedly opened the door.</p><p>       Mary-Beth's expression lightened in his presence while her eyes studied the topography of his face. The long night had left Arthur disheveled, his face hollow and fatigued. His stubble had grown out minus the one bald spot on his chin, the one she loved so much, and a few extra bags hung under his piercing eyes. “Mary-Beth?” His voice interrupted her intense study session, and her freckled cheeks turned a rosy red. She tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, “Yes, Mr. Morgan? Did you have something to tell me?”</p><p>         By the look of his pinched brow, he had clearly already delivered the information, but in hopes of sparing her blushes he restated, “Dutch wants to talk over dinner tonight, about the events of last night.” She listened to him, relieved to hear some halfway decent news. “Thank you for letting me know. It’ll certainly be beneficial to get the air cleared.” She admitted, the worry clear on her face.</p><p>       Arthur hummed in agreement before announcing his departure, “Well, have a good rest of your day, Mary-Beth.” Her face turned downtrodden, not wanting him to go just yet. “Oh Arthur, I mean- Mr.Morgan?” She called to him as he walked down the hallway. Her words halted him, and he turned towards her. She racked her brain for something to say, but his confused expression rushed her reply, “You look tired, can I make you something? Tea or coffee?” His mouth turned up slightly, finding her nervous banter sweet, “I’m fine Mary-Beth, but thank you.”</p><p>          “No problem, Mr. Morgan.” She accepted his refusal and started to defeatedly retreat back into her room. However, Arthur’s voice caught her, “Mary-Beth, you don’t have to call me Mr. Morgan. Arthur’ll do just fine.” She smiled at him appreciatively, her heart in her throat from his words, “I’ll see you at dinner then…Arthur.”</p>
<hr/><p> </p>
<hr/><p>          Mary-Beth placed a basket of dinner rolls on the table, neatly setting up for dinner. The gang usually never dined together like this, but she always loved it when they did. She never had much of a family before them, having to jump from place to place in hopes of finding somewhere to belong. While she was a kind-hearted woman, she dabbled in crime just like the others: her expertise in pickpocketing.</p><p>          When she arrived in Los Angeles, she immediately went to the train station, snagging wallets and watches mostly. However, one day she had botched a lift, alerting the tall lanky man of her theft. The clasp of his watch had snagged, and she was caught red-handed in the act. She bolted from the scene of the crime, trying to lose her victim in the crowd of travelers. Unfortunately for her, his tall stature gave him an advantage, spotting her easily as she attempted to escape.</p><p>         In her frantic dash, she accidentally ran smack into Hosea, almost knocking the older gentleman down. Bill had chewed her out for her clumsiness, giving the tall man the chance to catch up. Hosea quickly understood what had happened, and in his usual Hosea fashion managed to make up quite the story. Even if the man had been doubtful, the subtle revealing of their guns certainly changed his mind.</p><p>      With that fateful incident, Mary-Beth had found a family, one that accepted her pickpocketing too. Her kind demeanor and pretty face made for a very convincing cover, either she was used as a distraction or sent out into the field to steal.</p><p>     Unlike some of the other girls, she retained her modesty, not bowing to the sexual proposals many of the men had thrown at her. Mary-Beth was a hopeless romantic at heart; her romantic writings were there for her when no one else was. She found comfort in writing, but she didn’t dare admit that to anyone else. For Mary-Beth, her writings were incredibly private. If anyone read them and spewed a sarcastic jab or a demeaning joke, she’d be absolutely crushed. Most of her fellow gang members weren’t much on reading anyway besides Hosea and Lenny.</p><p>      Mary-Beth wanted something like her writings and the romance novels she loved, a love genuine and true to the fullest extent. She often hoped something would bloom between her and Arthur, but the emotional barrier he kept up demolished any hopes of that. The other women informed her of Arthur’s emotionless ways, if he wanted to screw you he had no intention of starting anything-he simply wanted a halfway decent time. They had also mentioned a high-class woman named Mary Linton, Arthur's one that got away. Despite their doubts, Mary-Beth continued to stoke the fire, hoping something would eventually spark. She wasn’t Mary Linton, but maybe Mary-Beth would suffice.</p><p>     Once the table had been set, the other members began to flood in. They were all in need of some clarity and unity, especially since now they all needed to stick together more than ever. Quietly, Mary-Beth watched everyone file in, taking their usual seats while trying to pretend everything was normal. The absence of Sean, Mac, Davey, and Jenny left unattended chairs, painfully reminding everyone of the elephant in the room.</p><p>       However, there was an empty seat next to Abigail, and everyone knew who was missing: John. Dutch appeared displeased with the absence of his more rebellious son, “Arthur, you did let everyone know, <em>right<em>?” Dutch’s words obviously offended Arthur, “Ain’t my fault Marston doesn’t want to come to dinner. Maybe them damn dogs ate more of his brain than we thought.” Abigail shot Arthur a dirty glare, upset that Jack had heard. Arthur shrugged his shoulders to her before indulging in some ham. His eyes met Mary-Beth’s, and she gave him an amused grin.</em></em></p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>        Fifteen minutes into dinner, the dining room doors opened and John sauntered in. Mary-Beth worriedly observed him, horrified by the trauma which ransacked his person. For her, it was hard to believe he was the same man. John and she weren’t very close, but even Mary-Beth could see the drastic transformation he’d gone through. He looked absolutely miserable, limping, and clinging to a cane like a man three times his age.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>      “Nice of you to join us, son.” Dutch snipped, cutting up his steak. John didn’t acknowledge his comment, even though he had clearly heard him. He shakily sat down, feeling the eyes of everyone on him. When he scrounged up enough courage to look up, he met the mixture of expressions awaiting him. “I’m not a fucking circus act now, am I?” He snarled. The curious eyes averted his now, attempting to keep their gaze off him. However, one gang member refused to grant Marston his wish: Micah. Mr.Bell kept staring at him, finding amusement in his glare. Micah saw right through his bravado, seeing the scared and insecure young man for what he was.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> Unlike Micah, Mary-Beth did her best to pry her eyes from him, but she, unfortunately, had been sat right across from him. He was like a car accident she couldn’t look away from; every wound on his person telling her the story everyone wanted to hear. She noticed his hand shaking while clutching his glass. The mangled hand struggled to tip the glass to his lips, such a simplistic movement painful for him. When Abigail tried to steady the glass for him, he shot her an angered look, embarrassed by her infantilizing care. Mary-Beth couldn’t hear what Abigail whispered to him, but by the look on both of their faces, it wasn’t anything nice.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>           Abigail’s words were the last straw for him, he abruptly rose from his chair before pushing it aside. Despite his injuries, John hurried out of the room, desperate to leave the presence of everyone. When the doors closed behind him, Abigail’s jaw clenched, but the woman managed to bottle her embarrassment she masqueraded as rage.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>       The whole exchange had left Mary-Beth stunned, never seeing John so upset and frantic before. She wanted to check on him, but she knew better than to mess with Abigail’s man. In hopes of numbing her concerns, she returned to relishing the delightful dinner Mr. Pearson had put together.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>        “Well, since the entertainment’s gone, I suppose we should get down to business. I know you are all in need of answers, so now is the time to ask them. But first, I believe we need to clear up any rumors or misinformation of last night’s tragedy.” Dutch’s voice filled the awkwardly quiet room. While he spoke of the horror of last night, Mary-Beth found herself worrying about the fate of her family. She didn’t know much about families, but drastic events like this usually never led to anything good. The chaos had strengthened some bonds, but it had also weakened others. Mary-Beth couldn’t help but fear this might be the beginning of the end of her family.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>         Instead of instilling hope, the meeting had instead left her with more dread. She tried her best to distract herself with cleaning up, taking on the majority of the work while the others retired. Eventually, Mary-Beth was the only one left in the dining hall; the massive corridor eerily quiet. She didn’t mind the silence, for once she could focus solely on her thoughts.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>       Then suddenly, the doors opened again, and Mary-Beth met the eyes of John. Before she could hide the shock in her eyes, the damage had been done. He grumbled and grunted as he hobbled across the dining room, pretending as if she wasn't there. Clearly, he hadn’t anticipated anyone still being in the dining hall, especially since Hosea was currently putting on a show in the drawing-room.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>      Mary-Beth didn’t know what to say or do, so she decided to remain dedicated to her cleaning. While she buffed out a stain on the table, she overheard him tearing apart the kitchen, searching the cabinets for something. Eventually, her curiosity got the better of her, and she started watching him. He might look different, but he was still the same person. She just had to remind herself. “What are you looking for?” She did her best to emphasize the compassion in her voice. Her words halted his rummaging, but he did not dare to look back at her, “Booze, got any?” Mary-Beth knew where the alcohol was, but she was hesitant to tell him. Dutch was very particular about drinking, especially now when an attack could occur at any minute. He wanted all his men alert and on guard, and a drunken John would be no help whatsoever.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>    The prolonged silence frustrated John, so he went back to tearing apart the cabinets. She could see how terribly he wanted to disappear, frustrated, and anxious over being monitored. He would not have wandered out into the open without reason. Mary-Beth caved to his request, wanting to give him some relief from his troubles, “Under the sink.” He didn’t say anything before plucking several bottles from the stash.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>       John would not pry his eyes from his uneasy feet, making his way back to the door. Mary-Beth started to regret her decision to help him, knowing Dutch or Arthur would give her a slap on the wrist for it. Then suddenly, John spoke, “Thank you, Mary-Beth.” She met his gaze, and for a moment his vulnerability showed. The fear and uncertainty of it all exposed in his tired eyes, even the ghostly white one. She did not flinch from the sight of him, ensuring to give him a respectful and kind gaze, “You’re welcome.” With that final exchange, John disappeared down the corridor.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>      Once done with her chores, Mary-Beth started making her way back to her room, but she stopped midway at Arthur’s door. She needed some solace and stability, but her anxiety got the better of her. Her hand was raised in order to knock, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so. Disappointedly, she sighed and continued down the hall. However, the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the stairs caught her attention. Maybe the fates were rewarding her for helping John, for there was Arthur standing in front of her.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>        Mary-Beth did not even have to say a word, Arthur immediately striking up a conversation, “Mary-Beth what are you sneaking about for?” Mary-Beth tried to collar the nervousness in her voice, “Nothing just got done cleaning up dinner. I’m sorry Arthur, is there a curfew now?” Her final comment roused a gravely laugh from him, “Nah, no curfew as of yet. Most of us are listening to Hosea babble on about his time being a lone gangster.” A grin stretched across her face, already hearing Hosea’s fantastical story voice in her head. “Is that so?” She chuckled, her smile only lasting a short while.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> Arthur sensed her bottled up worry, and he closed some of the space between them, “You ok Mary-Beth?” She hurriedly nodded, not wanting to add another thing to Arthur’s incredibly full plate. Despite her attempt, his face remained serious, he obviously didn’t buy it, so she felt it best to be honest, “It’s just, everything is so strange. Things are so bent out of shape, and I'm afraid that it’s only going to get worse.” She started getting worked up, so Arthur steadied her, “Hey, you forget who you’re talking about. Nobody’s going nowhere, we just gotta regroup is all. Those bastards were a one time deal, Dutch won’t let it happen again.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>       She wanted to believe him, but part of her refused to do so. “Don’t you worry, Mary-Beth leave that to Hosea and I.” Arthur soothed. “Here, when Dutch gives us the ok, I’ll take you and the girls into town. Let ya’ll buy something nice and maybe go dancin. Does that sound good?” She smiled at him, appreciating how much of an effort he was making. “Come on, Hosea is telling that story about how he met Bonnie and Clyde. I reckon we should go listen in.” Arthur offered his arm to her. Her heart skipped a beat, his invitation easing her rampaging thoughts. “I reckon we should as well.” She accepted his arm, hooking hers with his.</p><p>
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  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Javier Escuella</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ok, so in comparison to the last two chapters, this one has a lot more humor in it. I absolutely loved how the dialogue turned out, so hopefully, you do as well. The format of the story will be switching in between each character and getting their point of view on certain events, along with that we get an insight into that particular character's life. Even if a character has been covered already, most likely they will be revisited again in a later chapter. In this section, we will look into Javier's perspective on things.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>   Not much occurred over the following days, strangely, everything almost appeared normal. The lack of unexpected violence brought with it paranoia, making it hard to believe they had lost four of their members. Dutch was consistently on edge, struggling to come up with a foolproof plan. There were only two days left before Sean would perish. Time was of the essence. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>      In the early morning, Javier Escuella tirelessly hacked at the collection of logs outside of his cabin. The wood splitting with a satisfying chop of his axe. The air was slightly nippy, yet sweat still beaded down his temples. He stopped his task to dab his face, suddenly noticing John drunkenly stumbling back into the compound. No one was supposed to leave, but John had clearly helped himself to a night of heavy drinking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>            Javier actually liked John, finding him decent company and a good drinking buddy. He knew if Dutch or Miss. Grimshaw saw him, he’d have hell to pay, so he decided to try and help him out. “You ok there, amigo?” Javier light-heartedly called as he approached him. His words went unnoticed, John continuing to aimlessly wander. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>       When Javier tried to steady him, John delivered a very slurred “fuck off”, or at least that’s what Javier thought he said. He didn’t back off that easy, guiding him towards the entrance behind the main house. Easily, Javier overpowered John’s pitiful flails and drunken cusses. Abruptly, John went limp in his arms, forcing Javier to steady himself against the added weight. Breathy laughs started escaping John while his chin dug into Javier’s chest. The putrid smell of alcohol on his breath making Javier gag. Somehow John managed to string together a discernible sentence, “My life is so fucked.” At first, he kept laughing, but then his chuckles soon morphed into a cry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>              John’s hands gripped Javier’s sleeves, burying his face into his chest while he cried. Awkwardly, Javier held him, regretting his decision to intervene. He liked John, but not that much. Javier especially didn’t like the smears of snot and tears on his only partially sweaty undershirt. Despite how uncomfortable he felt, he still did his best to comfort John, patting and squeezing his shoulder while he reluctantly pressed into him. “Your life isn’t fucked.” Javier attempted to console. Only a chorus of whines responded, “Yes it is.” Javier sighed, allowing John a few more awkward seconds of self-pity before distancing himself from him. “I think you just need to sleep it off.” Javier suggested, returning to escorting John to the house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              Abigail must have heard them, for the backdoor of the main house swung open to reveal her furious person. “I believe this belongs to you.” Javier pushed John towards her. Abigail thanked him with a kind glance before taking possession of her drunken and disfigured man. As Javier walked away, he heard Abigail hound John with insults, but what really stuck out was John’s slurred plea to him, “Don’t leave me with her! She’s mean!” With that last exchange, the door slammed behind them with a few muffled retorts following suit. “Fucking idiotas</span>
  <span>.” Javier sighed, wiping the stains John had left on his shirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>             While the gang was relatively diverse, Javier was the only Latino present in the entire group. Dutch had actually been the one to teach him English on top of saving him from starving on the street. Before meeting the gang, Javier lived in Mexico, but things went sour quick during The Great Depression. Wages were low and tensions high, and a young Javier witnessed the grisly butchering of field workers after requesting better pay. It was something he never forgot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>                  The carnage he experienced only fueled his rebellious nature, leading to him joining revolutionists and unions. However, Javier doomed his life in Mexico when he murdered a powerful man over the woman he loved. His victim had been one of elite military status, so naturally, Javier became a wanted man by many. In an act of self preservation, Javier escaped to America. For many months he was a mere beggar starving on the street until he met Dutch Van der Linde.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>               When things became too rough, Javier took to stealing chickens, something he resented doing. Coming from a farming background, he knew how important each chicken was for a family, but his hunger had gotten the best of him. In the act, he met Dutch who had the exact same idea as him. Both men found great humor in the situation, and from there Dutch invited the homeless immigrant into his family. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>                Dutch dedicated much of his time to teaching him English, and during that time Javier formed an unbreakable sense of loyalty to Dutch. He greatly idolized him, admiring his leadership, style, and confidence. In some ways, Javier copied Dutch more often than he cared to admit. Like Dutch, Javier put his appearance over almost everything else. He always wore well-tailored suits and kept his hair in check. Often the other men would tease him for it, deeming him the Mexican Rudolph Valentino, a nickname he wasn’t particularly fond of. For Javier, dressing nicely was a luxury he never got to experience until being saved by Dutch. He loved the way people respected him when he entered a room, and of course, the attention from women was another plus. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>       Suddenly, Javier heard someone call his name, and he turned to see Arthur coming towards him. “Dutch needs to speak with ya.” Arthur motioned to the main house. Javier nodded to him, “Let me finish this cigarette real fast.” Arthur announced his displeasure with such a request by clearing his throat, impatiently waiting on him. “You an errand boy now, Arthur?” Javier chuckled, smoke rising from his cigarette. “Yes, suppose I am. I’m guessing you’ve taken up the job of being a statue because you sure ain’t moving nowhere any time soon.” Arthur snipped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                The relationship between Javier and Arthur was neither good nor bad, it was an enigma in every sense of the word. Depending on the day, Javier was either on Arthur’s good or bad side. Today he was clearly on his bad side. Typically, Javier stayed around the more loose cannons of the group: John, Sean, and Bill. To Javier, Arthur was usually always a killjoy, spoiling everyone’s fun with his sour attitude. Arthur hardly ever let loose around him, unless they were attending the same party. If Arthur was drunk all the time, Javier would find it much easier to get along with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Javier dropped his cigarette, rubbing it into the dirt before giving Arthur a smug look. Arthur’s lip curled slightly before he led him back into the main house.</span>
  <span> “Javier, I am in need of a little favor from you.” Dutch stood up from his chair. Javier's mentor looked absolutely exhausted, yet to him, Dutch still looked like a million bucks. Despite the deepening bags under his eyes and the hollowness of his face, Dutch’s mustache remained trimmed while he dawned a striking red waistcoat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Of course, what do you need?” Javier was more than willing to take on the task. A sense of pride washed over Dutch from his willingness to please, “I need you and Bill to make some rounds to our establishments, check to see if anything has come up. Then after that, if you could meet Trelawny in the park, he might have a lead on where Sean is. He rang me this morning, apparently one of Colm’s goons spilled the beans about tipping off those vigilantes.” </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>                  Colm O’Driscoll, an Irish immigrant who had arrived in America when he was a young man. His father, a drunk and cripple of World War One, had doomed his entire family with unpaid loans and debt, so as an act of preservation Colm’s mother funded his escape to America. Once in the new world, Colm learned to toughen up very fast, choosing to follow the path of crime and debauchery. Colm’s main form of money-making came in the form of prostitution. Using his own personal experience, Colm recruited fellow Irish immigrants, promising them the possibility of success. Young, frightened, and idealistic women easily fell for his spiel, and they never caught on until it was too late. His path of degeneracy eventually led Colm to Dutch, and at first, the two were partners. Colm even taught Dutch his technique of recruiting prostitutes. All was well until Dutch killed Colm’s brother. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Colm had saved up his money for his younger brother to come live with him in America. Back in Ireland during his absence, Colm's younger brother had picked up many of their unruly father's vices. The younger O'Driscoll had a gambling problem, and unfortunately for him, he wasn’t very good at it in the first place. Unlike the rest of Colm’s men, his brother was hot-headed and rebellious, so much so that he got Dutch arrested during a botched bank robbery. When Dutch voiced his grievances to Colm, he simply brushed off Dutch’s concerns, so Dutch decided to work things out himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>         Dutch did not intend to kill Colm’s brother, in fact, he was rather civil when he confronted Colm’s brother. Unfortunately, things quickly took a turn for the worse especially since the younger O'Driscoll was drunk at the time. The boy had spewed one insult too many, instigating Dutch to punch him square in the face. A fistfight quickly broke out between them, and when Colm’s brother knew he wasn’t going to win, he drew his gun in preparation to shoot Dutch. The two wrestled for the gun, but in the end, it came into Dutch’s possession. Instead of sparing him, Dutch shot the younger O’Driscoll dead in the street. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      When word of Dutch’s killing got to Colm, an insatiable thirst for revenge implanted itself in him, leading to the brutal murder of Dutch’s lover Annabelle. The two would constantly be at each other’s throats, trying to diminish the success of their gangs. No matter how hard Dutch tried to keep a low profile, Colm always seemed to track him down. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>     Javier did exactly what Dutch asked of him, checking up on the bars, brothels, and casinos they had control over with Bill. During their tedious outing, the two hardly found anything of substance. No threats or out of the ordinary violence had occurred whatsoever. The relative peace was eerie and worrying to Javier while Bill saw it as an act of cowardice. “Y’know Dutch is getting all worked up over nothing. Bastards are running scared.” Bill grumbled, watching the houses pass by as Javier drove. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>             Bill was one of Javier’s closest confidants, yet even Javier found his gripes trying at times. While both men shared a deep loyalty for Dutch, Bill would always complain whenever he had to prove it. If it was up to Bill, he’d only go on robbery missions or spend his time partying, routine check-up trips were not his forte whatsoever. Honestly, the relatively boring outings were not Javier’s favorite either, but he refused to ever let Dutch down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “They might be watching us, see if we’re planning anything or acting out of the ordinary.” Javier suggested, turning into the parking lot of the park. Bill scoffed at the idea, already over the uneventful waiting game, “I say we go in and show them what for. They may have surprised us before, but together we could easily take them.” Javier admired Bill’s vigor, but he knew all too well how cowardly he truly was. During any tense situation, Bill somehow managed to weasel himself out of it and leave the rest of the fight to the others. He was like a dog, all bark and no bite. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Trelawny must be around here somewhere.” Javier shut his car door, heading into the quiet park. There were only a few occupants there, but none matched the flamboyant man that was Josiah Trelawny. When Javier had searched the entire park, he found no signs of Trelawny, so he changed the subject of his search to Bill. He found Bill sitting down on a bench and noticed he was making eye contact with the man in line for ice cream. “Hey, what are you sitting around for?” Javier jabbed, causing Bill to stiffen and direct his full attention to Javier. “What? He ain’t here, so that’s that.” Bill snapped as he stood up. “So now we can go.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>     Javier was hesitant to follow after his friend, not wanting to let Dutch down. “Listen, if you’re gonna sit around here waiting for that pompous prick to show, I’m gonna go help myself to a drink.” Bill started making his way to the bar across the street. He felt torn on what to do, knowing the flaky and unpredictable nature of Josiah. Despite his loyalty to Dutch, the idea of a cold drink was something he could not pass up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>         Once Javier caught up with Bill inside the bar, he heard his friend already starting something with a fellow patron. Thankfully, the victim of Bill’s insults was fellow gang member Charles Smith. “What are you doing here Charles?” Javier questioned. Charles turned his attention to Javier, “I was just on this side of town. Wanted a drink as any decent man would.” Charles was a fantastic boxer, but he was shit at lying. “Dutch told you to follow us, didn’t he?” Javier folded his arms. Charles took a swig of his beer, “Actually no, Arthur told me to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>               Javier felt his face burn, anger, and resentment towards Arthur boiling up while he muttered curses in Spanish. “What do you listen to whatever Morgan tells ya?” Bill snapped. Charles simply shrugged and returned to drinking the rest of his beer. “Well, you can let Arthur know Trelawny was a no show,” Javier grumbled finding an empty spot at the bar. “In the meantime, I’m going to get a drink. I’m parched.” Bill immediately started drinking with them, overjoyed that he got his way for once. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>          The three gangsters spent more time than they had originally planned at the bar, giving themselves a chance to relax and let loose. Things only got better when two pretty girls decided to start chatting them up. While Javier and Charles happily flirted with the girls, Bill's eyes caught the sight of the man from the ice cream line. He figured his friends were preoccupied enough for him to step out for a moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>     Not long after Bill left, "Mr. Buzzkill" himself walked into the bar, but Javier was too drunk to unleash his anger anymore. “Arthur! Come here, I want you to meet our friends.” Javier invited the senior gun over. Even in his tipsy state, Javier could see how annoyed he was. “Pleased to meet you.” Arthur spoke through gritted teeth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The redhead found amusement in Arthur's pissy attitude, deciding to play around with him, “My, the pound must’ve let out all the mongrels today.” Arthur merely gave her a partial smile, fed up already with her. “Oh, Anna what are you going on about? I’m sure he’s a pussy cat.” The more friendly of the two women chirped. Javier could not pass up the opportunity to tease Arthur, "Exactly, yes he's a pussy...cat. Ain't that so Arthur?"  The older gunman simply straightened his waistcoat, choosing to brush off Javier's jab, "Whatever you say." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>          Instead of taking the woman's compliment, Arthur took it as a challenge, determined to prove how venomous he could be, “Well ain’t that nice. How much you two cost anyway?” The kinder one’s smile dropped, obviously hurt by his words. Protectively, Anna decided to strike back at him, “That’s no way to talk to a lady.” She had set herself up with this one, a devious smirk forming on Arthur’s face before he snapped back, “Oh I didn’t know I was talking to a lady.” He’d done it now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Instead of the gentler of the two running off first, Anna furiously stormed off making sure to shove him slightly on her way out. The meeker of the two flashed Arthur a hurt look before hurrying after her friend. “You sure have a way with women, amigo.” Javier sighed, still too drunk to really care. Now Arthur trained his attacks on Javier, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you supposed to meet Trelawny then come <em>straight back</em> home.” Javier blew out like a horse, tossing his hands up, “Fancy pants didn’t show.” Somehow Arthur managed to furrow his brow even more, frustrated with Javier’s apathy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       When Arthur’s infuriated eyes landed on Charles, the boxer quickly went to defend himself, “You told me to follow them…” He paused to gesture to Javier, “…and not lose sight of them.” A strained chuckle seeped from Arthur before he continued his interrogation, “If that’s so, then where the hell is Bill?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>              Then as if Arthur’s words had the power to make Williamson appear, the burly man walked back into the bar, looking especially downtrodden. On his sulky way over, he bumped into another patron, and whatever ailed him came out in the form of a heated exchange. “He gonna kiss that guy or punch him?” Arthur mused, hoping desperately for a fight to break out. Arthur certainly got his wish.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>     With a sickening crash, one of the fighters tossed Arthur out the window, littering the sidewalk with broken glass. Javier, Bill, and Charles hurried out into the street to watch, enjoying the unexpected entertainment of a classic Arthur brawl. “Come on Arthur kick his ass! We got drinks waiting!” Javier drunkenly laughed. The stress of the week influenced Arthur greatly, despite the telltale signs of submission from his beaten victim he kept punching. Every hit releasing some of his pent up emotions, making it nearly impossible for him to stop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>     Out of nowhere a feeble man with a cane dropped himself in between Arthur and the bruised up man, begging him to stop. After a brief exchange and to Javier and Bill’s surprise, Arthur obeyed the weak man, releasing the collar of his victim before slinking off to tend to his wounds. His fellow gang members trailed after him, their jaws creaking and their knuckles aching from the brutal bar fight. “We need to get out of here before the police show.” Charles groaned, massaging his jaw. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>     “Yes, indeed you should!” A cheerful voice interjected. When the battered men identified the owner of the voice, they realized it belonged to the one and only Josiah Trelawny. Javier would’ve punched Trelawny right then and there if his knuckles did not hurt so much. “Where the hell have you been?” Javier growled. Trelawny only appeared slightly offended, “Where have I <em>been</em>? The question is more where have <em>you</em> <em>all</em> been? I’ve sat in that park for nearly an hour waiting on one of you to show.” Javier could already feel Arthur’s eyes burning a hole in his skull. “Now do you want this information or not?” Trelawny rested his foot on the bench, leaning over his perched leg. “Of course we do.” Arthur replied, popping his jaw back into place. “Lovely, I suggest we get going then.” Trelawny started down the street. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>      The dapper conman escorted the rough and tumble outlaws to his home, doing his best to sneak them in without his wife overhearing. Unfortunately, Bill being the person he was, knocked into the kitchen table. “Josie?” A voice chimed from inside the living room. Javier had to stifle a chuckle, and Trelawny shot both him and Williamson a glare, “Yes dear? Just going down to the basement to play some cards with friends.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>                A rather beautiful woman appeared from behind the corner, standing before them in her silk night slip, “Oh! You must be his work friends?” Javier took the opportunity to utilize his natural charm, introducing himself while taking her hand and planting a kiss on it. Trelawny's wife blushed slightly from him, retracting her hand slowly in hopes of not revealing how uncomfortable she was. While Javier made a fool of himself, Arthur gave Trelawny a playful dig with his elbow, “Where you been hiding her all this time?” Josiah gave Arthur a forced laugh before terminating Javier’s unwanted courting, “We won’t be long dear.” She gave him an affectionate smile, placing her hand on his chest before kissing his cheek, “I’ll keep the bed warm for you.” The corners of his mouth turned up, his expression radiating the love and power he felt over the situation, “Goodnight.” They shared a brief kiss before the hallway swallowed her up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>         When Trelawny turned around, he met the stunned and slightly jealous faces of his companions (except Bill), only empowering him more. “Now, where were we? Oh yes, the basement.” Trelawny pointed to the stairwell. Javier and Bill hung back behind the others, and Javier could not suppress his confusion, “How did a guy like him get a girl like her? And where can I get one?” Bill pretended to act invested. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      They all gathered around the bare poker table, awaiting the news Trelawny had for them. “So, a little birdie told me that one of Colm’s loose-lipped henchman was bragging about 'The Blackwater Ferry' incident. And by little birdie, I mean the rather queer chap who works at the train station, Alden. Anyway, the buffoon was going on about how the vigilantes approached Colm, and of course, he sang like a canary. Gave the pricks your guard schedules and the address of every establishment Dutch owns.” Trelawny leaned back in his chair, smoking a cigarette secured by a cigarette holder. “You saying Colm has been watching us?” Arthur interjected. Josiah nodded to Arthur, smoke wafting from his lips. “It seems your routines aren’t as random as Dutch perceived.” Trelawny shifted in order to prop his elbow on the table. “Or they have been watching us for a lot longer than we thought.” Charles threw in his two cents. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>          Charles’ statement disturbed Javier, racking his brain for any recollection of someone following him. Javier, Bill, John, Charles, and Sean were the main guards for the gang, meaning the O’Driscoll’s had been watching their every move. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>                   “There is a silver lining, this particular O’Driscoll tends to occupy this bar quite frequently. It is called 'The Foxhole'.” Trelawny was suddenly interrupted by Bill, “The gay bar?” Everyone’s eyes fell upon Bill, who was already internally kicking himself for opening his mouth. “Yes, it appears our little O’Driscoll has a craving for those of his own sex.” Trelawny continued. This time Arthur halted the conversation, “So, that’s why Alden knows our O’Driscoll so well. Now everything makes perfect sense.” Trelawny appeared slightly annoyed by his companion’s cutting him off, so he made his relatively soft voice more authoritative, “Yes, 'The Foxhole' is a gay bar. Moving on now, considering how easily he spilled the beans, I am sure with some persuasion he would lead you back to their little hideout.” Josiah suggested, studying the reactions of his friends. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Before anyone could contribute to the conversation, the startling high pitched ring of a phone interrupted them, and Trelawny quickly snapped it up. The others were unable to discern what he was saying, but by the concerned look on his face, they figured it wasn’t anything good. When he hung up the phone, he turned his attention to the men, “It appears Mr. Marston is missing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>             Javier’s heart sunk, fearing his irresponsibility had resulted in the O’Driscoll’s possibly kidnapping another member. Arthur nearly toppled over his chair standing up so fast, the senior gun quickly heading up the stairs grumbling, “This is all your fault, you dumb bastards.” Charles hurried after him, the screen door of Trelawny’s home slamming behind them. Guilt choked Javier, he never wanted to let Dutch down or John. “I don’t know what they are getting in such a fuss about. John disappeared all last night, nobody went looney then. The jerk is probably off swimming in liquor.” Bill huffed. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Trelawny’s sense of humor could not be contained, “Bill, may I remind you that John is a rather poor swimmer.” Bill scrunched his brow, storming up the stairs in frustration. “Seriously?” Javier sighed, resulting in a sheepish shrug from the conman. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*DUN DUN DUN* Oh no! Where on Earth could John have gone?! Guess you will have to find out in the next chapter which will be covered by everyone's favorite cowboy Arthur Morgan. Also, I hope no one perceives my jokes towards Bill as offensive because I certainly don't mean for them to be, and they are actually there to set up for Bill's chapter which follows after Arthur's.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Arthur Morgan</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This was probably my favorite chapter to write so far, especially since Arthur is such a fun and dynamic character to work with. I will no doubt have another chapter focusing on him again, but in the meantime here is the first taste of 1950's AU Arthur Morgan. </p><p>Fair warning, this chapter does cover some darker themes which include suicide, depression, and homophobia.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>   Upon returning to the compound, Arthur was met by a chaotic sight of his fellow members scattered about with flashlights. After getting out of his car, a frantic Abigail ran up to him, Hosea trailing behind her. “Arthur! I can’t find him anywhere, we got into it and I just-“ Arthur slowed her hysterical catharsis. “Arthur, we’ve looked all over this damn place. Don’t know where John went off to.” Hosea explained. Arthur scanned the entirety of the compound, soothingly rubbing Abigail’s back while she cried. “Where’s Dutch?” Arthur inquired. Hosea tilted his head in Dutch’s direction, inviting Arthur to follow him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>             “Everything is gonna be just fine Abigail, don’t you worry now. Marston might be dumber than a bag of bricks, but he’s tough as nails. Ain’t no damn O’Driscoll or badge-wearing fool is gonna take him without one of us knowing about it.” Arthur made sure Abigail looked him in the eye, squeezing her shoulders to make sure she believed him. She nodded to him, sniffling and smiling slightly from his comforting words. “Yeah, there’s that tough girl we all love. You take care of that little one, we'll find em.” Arthur then released her, hurrying after Hosea. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>       As per usual, Dutch was directing the others on where to look, Micah standing idly by him peeling an orange. “Arthur! Son, do you have any ideas as to where John might’ve run off to?” Dutch queried. Arthur shook his head, finding John unworthy of all the hullabaloo. “Man runs off for a whole year, no one lifts a finger. He’s been back for less than a year, and suddenly runs off again, but <em>now</em> everyone is losing their god damn minds.” Arthur threw his hands up in the air. Hosea interjected before Dutch could say anything, “Arthur, we can’t afford to point fingers right now. After the events at The Blackwater Ferry, anything could happen. Now, let’s just find John and bring him home.” </span>
  <span>Arthur softened from Hosea, knowing he was the more analytical of the two leaders. Hosea was a role model for Arthur, serving as the good man Arthur’s dad could never be. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>       Lyle Morgan, a drunk and abusive criminal, who died in the hail of gunfire from a rival thug. In his youth Arthur had witnessed his father’s death, something that stuck with him forever. He refused to admit any sentiment towards his father, yet he wore his father’s hat often. Young Arthur had plucked his father’s hat from his corpse, the article serving as a constant reminder of what troubles came with a criminal way of life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>        The hat was simple, a dark brown almost black fedora with twine wrapped around the base instead of ribbon. Arthur wore it religiously, hardly ever replacing it with any other hat. No one dared touch Arthur’s hat if they did they would have hell to pay. Arthur wasn’t a materialistic man, but you did not mess with his hat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>          When John was a teen, in hopes of pissing Arthur off, he wore his hat in front of him. Quickly John realized how big of a mistake he made, receiving such a punch that it permanently altered the curvature of his nose. Dutch and Hosea had to pry Arthur off him, but Arthur refused to stop until he was satisfied. Along with a broken nose, John had a shiner and a busted lip for nearly a month from Arthur. </span>
  <span>If the beating didn’t teach John a lesson, the humiliation of wearing the makeup of a beaten man sure did. The other members did not hold back from teasing young John, knowing Arthur had put the hotheaded teen in his place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>          Now Arthur couldn’t help but wonder if John’s new injuries affected him in a similar way or worse, especially since they would most likely never go away. John only had them for a short while, but Arthur could already see how hard it was for him. </span>
  <span>Despite John getting on his every last nerve, they were still close friends as young men. Arthur mentored John when Hosea or Dutch were unavailable. However, they had the most fun when they got up to mischief, as all young men do. God help the victims of their pranks. They were hell raisers in camp until Mary Gillis came on the scene. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>     Lovestruck Arthur dedicated all his time to Mary, making John take a backseat to their intense affair. Arthur poured his heart and soul into his romance with Mary, for once he had never felt so certain about being in love. For a young man who had lost so much, expressing such vulnerable feelings was no easy feat, but Mary had stolen his heart. He figured she would eventually be his wife, but life had other plans for them. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>     “The ridgeline, he might’ve gone there.” Arthur suddenly suggested. A hissy laugh rose from Micah, “What, you think Marston is fixing to do a swan dive off Spider Ridge?” Arthur gave Dutch a serious look, making the older man realize the gravity of the situation. “Arthur go get Javier and head up to the ridge.” Dutch directed. Arthur did exactly as ordered, running off to fetch Javier and a car. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>         “John!” Arthur hollered, the grass along the ridgeline dancing in the rampant wind. Despite how loud Arthur was yelling, his words were carried off by the violent wind. It was a full moon tonight, but the bruise colored clouds kept covering up the much-needed light source. Even with their flashlights, they only reached so far, leaving much of the area still shrouded in darkness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>          Then for a fleeting moment, the clouds parted to reveal the moon, the glow illuminating the pure black ridge. Arthur noticed the silhouette of a man, standing dangerously close to the edge. It had to be John. “John! Don’t you take one more step!” Arthur nearly screamed. The two men dashed over, and John shakily turned to face them. “Get the hell out of here Morgan!” John snarled, a slight slur to his voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>            “John you don’t need to do this.” Javier pleaded, attempting to approach him. “Either of you takes one more step and I’ll jump! I swear to God!” John warned, stepping closer to the ledge. Arthur pushed Javier back, knowing this was something he had to do. “Marston is this how you want everyone to remember you? That you gave up because of those men?” Arthur questioned. John’s determined facade faltered briefly, until his thoughts started running wild, “So they can remember me as this monster? This thing to be stared and gawked at!” Arthur racked his brain for something else to say, doing his best to tread carefully, “You’re not a monster, John. You have a woman and a child who loves you! You’re only a monster if you let them down. That boy will never forgive you for this, seeing his daddy was nothing but a coward!” Arthur accidentally set off a landmine, John’s brow furrowing and his voice seething, “That boy ain’t my son! He could easily be your’s or even Javier’s!” Arthur frowned at John, his voice straining from his shout, “That don’t mean shit! That boy thinks you are his daddy, and so you are! That’s what matters. Don’t let that boy down, John. Just because you didn’t have a dad, doesn’t mean that boy has to!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>            John’s face softened, his eyes averting Arthur’s piercing gaze. “Damn you, Arthur.” John’s voice hitched before he stepped away from the cliff. Relief flooded over both Arthur and Javier, the two escorting John far away from the edge. “Now, that’s settled.” Arthur proceeded to smack John upside the head, hoping to hide how truly upset he was. John flinched from him, rubbing the back of his head despite how little it truly hurt, “What the hell was that for?” Arthur chuckled from him, “For making everyone go on a wild goose chase looking for your dumb ass! Now get in the damn car.” John gave Arthur a sour look, mumbling as he slid into the car, “I should’ve jumped.” Arthur rolled his eyes, shutting John’s door when he got situated. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <span>     When the car came up the path into the compound, many of the gang members anxiously flooded out of the house. Abigail got to the car first, Hosea close behind her. “Oh, Arthur did you find him?” Abigail whimpered. Arthur smiled at her before John opened up his door. She could not collar a relieved cry, wrapping her arms around John. </span>
  <span>John stiffened against her embrace, too uncomfortable and unsure to express the same level of affection. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>              Unintentionally, John’s lack of action hurt Abigail, especially considering expressing vulnerability was no easy task for her. She released him, awkwardly folding her arms while trying to subdue her fragile emotions. He had embarrassed her, something Abigail loathed more than anything especially over something so intimate. In hopes of hiding her humiliation, she let her fiery and dominating attitude take over.  The soft and welcoming expression on her face turning into a cold and domineering frown, “You foolish man! Having us all running scared looking for you! What were you thinking? Oh, that’s right you don’t!” John was blindsided by her sudden shift, locking up any vulnerability he considered unleashing, reverting to his own anger. They became a bickering mess like usual causing the others to quietly leave their presence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>           Arthur let out a sigh while running his hand over his face, leaving the two to argue in peace. Javier caught up with Arthur, grabbing his shoulder playfully, “Poor bastard is probably regretting not jumping now.” Arthur chuckled from him, “Abigail will ease up when she knows he’s learned his lesson. John’s like a dumb dog, gotta whack him a few times with a newspaper till he knows better. ” Arthur’s analogy sparked a laugh from Javier, the sounds of Abigail and John’s argument carrying to the main house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Dutch intercepted the two men, “Arthur, what news did Trelawny give you?” Arthur had to backtrack through his thoughts, the chaotic search for John had temporarily wiped his memory. Thankfully Javier went to cover for him, “Trelawny gave us a lead on an O’Driscoll, says he visits the Foxhole often, apparently, he can’t keep a secret to save his life.” Arthur flashed Javier a grateful look, briefly, expressing how incredibly fatigued and stressed he was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>             Dutch did his best to process the information, but he had to clarify, “The gay bar?” Arthur shook his head, releasing a frustrated sigh, “Yes the gay bar.” Dutch chortled briefly, “So, you boys reckon I should send Bill?” The turbulent events of the day had exhausted both of them, making it hard for Arthur or Javier to find Dutch’s jest humorous. A few of Dutch's deep chuckles trailed out awkwardly before he cleared his throat, “Well, Arthur I suppose you and Javier would be perfect candidates for such a task. I suggest you boys get some shuteye, and tomorrow night pay our little friend a visit.” </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>     Illuminated signs, jazz music, and freshly paved streets welcomed Arthur and Javier with open arms into downtown. Friday’s typically were something Arthur looked forward to, but currently, the date only reminded him of how little time they had left. Once Sunday hit, Sean’s fate would be decided with or without their input. Thankfully the sight of the more secluded club ‘The Fox Hole’ came into view, a small light-up sign featuring a drunken fox placed above the entrance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      'The Fox Hole’ was in a seedier side of downtown, hidden away amongst the more ominous establishments. Arthur knew to keep his guard up, knowing the danger which lurked around this part of town. He parked the car a few blocks away, trying to keep it on the more civilized half of downtown. “Keep your guard up, Javier. I don’t particularly fancy this side of town.” Arthur instructed while closing his door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>                Arthur led the way, straightening the collar on his tan trench coat; his go-to light blue button-down peeking through the open slit of his coat. Along their walk, they passed by a group of male prostitutes. While Javier found the prostitutes’ proposal humorous, Arthur remained serious and dead set on his task, not wanting to make a scene or be noticed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>          Slow jazz music flooded out onto the street from the establishment, a small band playing inside. Upon entering the bar, it was like the regulars could sniff out the newcomers, studying Javier and Arthur while they scoped out the place. A mixture of lustful and suspicious eyes followed their every move, many of the closeted men guaging whether or not to approach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>         Arthur’s business oriented expression warded off most, but Javier’s more flamboyant attire along with his amused smirk brought with it unwanted attention. An older gentleman offered Javier a dance which Javier quickly declined. The others must not have received the message, a chorus of catcalls and flirtatious banter serenading Javier. Arthur could not focus under such persistent attention, so he felt it best to split up.</span>
  <span> “I’m going to go check out the bar. You go start asking around, seems like your fans are dying to talk with you.” Arthur directed. Javier’s brow furrowed, embarrassment and uncertainty clear on his face, “Arthur, are you punishing me for yesterday?” Arthur started getting frustrated, knowing this exchange would only eat up time they could not afford to lose, “Just go do your job. If you hear anything, meet me near the entrance in ten minutes.” Arthur did not give Javier a chance to argue, disappearing into the crowd of occupants. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>              Arthur managed to find a spot at the bar, doing his best to avoid eye contact with the other men surrounding the scuffed up tabletop in order to stay focused. “What’ll ya have?” A chirpy voice inquired. Arthur gazed up to meet the eyes of the bartender, a man dressed in a very formfitting white undershirt. “Scotch.” Arthur replied. The bartender smiled, a name tag on his chest reading ‘Sass’. If anyone had any information on the loose-lipped O’Driscoll, Sass certainly would. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Haven’t seen you around here stranger, what brings you to our little slice of sin?” Sass gave Arthur a warm smile, his lips turning up while preparing Arthur’s scotch. “I’m actually looking for a feller-“ Sass cut him off, “Hey, aren’t we all?” Arthur didn’t respond, causing Sass to tone down his flirtatious attitude, “So this </span>
  <em>
    <span>feller, </span>
  </em>
  <span>what’s he look like?” This was the hard part, “Well I ain’t too sure, he’s Irish and has quite the mouth on him.” Sass started filtering through his memory, one of Arthur’s descriptive words must have struck something. “Hmm, there is this one Irish fella who comes around a lot, usually gets drunk as a skunk and shoots the shit. Had to toss his ass out last time, started getting handsy with our saxophone player.” Sass explained, keeping one eye on the other patrons. “What’s his name?” Arthur pried. Sass struggled to recall, his forehead lines deepening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “Hey, pretty boy still waiting on my damn drink!” A slightly drunken man snapped, tapping his glass against the countertop. Sass rolled his eyes, “One second doll.” Arthur frustratedly let him go, not wanting to make a scene with the cussing drunk. While waiting for Sass to return, Arthur gifted himself a sip from his scotch, his eyes scanning the sea of unfamiliar faces. Arthur soon found himself looking past the confines of gender, recognizing the familiar sight of forbidden love. He had no issue with any form of intimate love between men, especially since Arthur understood the troubles of being in love with someone you could never be with. As he quietly watched, the music slowly started to fade away, Arthur’s thoughts taking to a very different place. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>         1941</span>
</p><p>
  <span>         Nerves usually never got to Arthur, but today he was jumpier than a horse in a field of snakes. America had finally declared war on the axis powers, and like many other young men, Arthur jumped at the opportunity to join up. The looming possibility of no return pushed Arthur to take his relationship with Mary Gillis a step further. Arthur had purchased a ring for her almost a year ago, but he did not have the courage to follow through until now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>          Arthur must have rehearsed what he would say to her a million times, his makeshift family his unwilling audience. Thankfully, Hosea and Susan certainly did not mind hearing Arthur’s proposal. Susan’s encouragement had been the final incentive for Arthur, giving him the last bit of bravery he needed to make the drive down to Mary’s house. While Miss. Grimshaw provided kind words, Hosea provided Arthur flowers and helped get him fixed up, making young Morgan look like he came straight from a magazine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>       Now Arthur paced nervously outside the gate guarding Mary’s home, struggling to make the remaining twenty steps to her door. He had checked his reflection in his car’s rearview mirrors over and over, becoming disgruntled when he would find an overlooked razor knick along his clean-shaven jaw. In desperation for solace, Arthur took a deep breath, knowing he had to do this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    However, just as he gathered the courage to approach the fence, Mary’s front door suddenly opened. Her father escorted a young gentleman out, shaking his hand and treating him almost like a son. Arthur didn’t know who this other man was, but he certainly never got such affectionate treatment from Mary’s father.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Unlike Arthur, this stranger possessed a monied and debonair look, his visage and hands devoid of scars or wear. He was handsome that was for sure, looking as if he just stepped out of a Hollywood film. Arthur could not help but feel insecure, doing his best to straighten his simple red tie and buff the scuffs on his worn shoes. His suit jacket wasn’t tailored and his trousers had spots where Susan had sown patches on, and of course, his father’s hat wasn’t much to look at. Despite his increasing urge to leave, Arthur refused to let down Hosea, Susan, and Mary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          Once the other man disappeared around the bend, Arthur forced himself to go through the gate. </span>
  <span>He paused momentarily before knocking on the maroon door, hearing the shuffling of someone on the other side. “Barr-“ Mary suddenly swallowed her words, mortified to see Arthur on the other side of the door, “Oh hello Arthur.” Immediately, Arthur could tell something was amiss. Her eyes were not warm and inviting, instead, they appeared conflicted and pained. He discretely hid the ring box in his pocket, distracting her by gifting her the flowers, “These are for you.” She hesitantly took the daises from him, acting as if he handed her roadkill instead of fresh flowers. “Thank you Arthur." She trained her eyes on the flowers, monotonously toying with the petals, "What brings you by?” Arthur had not expected the conversation to go this way, “I just wanted to see you. I’m shipping off here soon, didn’t wanna waste a moment not being with you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>        His words urged her eyes to meet his, and for a fleeting second her love for Arthur shined through, giving him some hope to cling to. Unfortunately, Arthur’s hope would soon be shattered into a million pieces. Mary quietly closed the door behind her before delivering the dreaded words, “Arthur, I need to tell you something.” Her hushed tone and secretive nature insulted Arthur, making him feel as if he was her dirty little secret. She urged him to the farthest point on the porch, her hand lightly placed on his back. When she would not spit it out what was clearly troubling her, Arthur’s mounting fear took charge, “What Mary?” She sighed from him, struggling to find the words, “Oh Arthur…Daddy-well Daddy wants me to stop seeing you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Arthur had an excellent ability to maintain a poker face, but in this instance, Mary could see his heart breaking. He tightly squeezed the banister, so many emotions eating him alive while he avoided her gaze. “Why?” Arthur tried to subdue the pain in his voice. Mary placed her hand overtop his, sensing him shaking underneath her, “You know why, Arthur.” He shifted away from her, the sensation of her touch tormenting his conflicted heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>        Rage started to billow within Arthur, temporarily numbing the intense sorrow he felt. “Am I not good enough for you lil miss money bags? Not rich enough? Not handsome enough?” Arthur snarled, turning his infuriated gaze to her. He knew how much she hated being yelled at by men, her father’s cruelty leaving permeant scars. Even though Arthur knew he was hurting her, he did not care at the moment, wanting her to get a taste of how he felt. “Arthur, shame on you. You know that’s not true.” Mary stood firm, but he could tell she was wavering. “Then what is it then?” Arthur boomed, slamming his hand down on the railing. Mary started to retreat, not wanting Arthur to see the tears forming in her eyes. “Goddammit, Mary, I deserve an answer!” Arthur could not stop his heated assault. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>           Mary finally hit her limit, throwing the flowers to the ground before facing him head-on, tears rolling down her cheeks, “You know why! Arthur, you live in this fantasy world, where we ride off into the sunset on a white horse. But the reality is, you’re a criminal Arthur. You kill, steal, lie, and God only knows what else! How dare you fault Daddy for wanting something better for me.” Her words hollowed him, his throat tightening and straining from the overwhelming flood of emotions. All Arthur could respond with was, “So, you admit it I’m not good enough?” Mary shook her head, sniffling and disappointed with his response, “Arthur, I’ve given you so many opportunities to choose what man you want to be. Every time I’d get my hopes up, that you’d choose me over those thugs-“ Arthur furiously interjected, “Don’t you dare refer to my family like that! You have no right.” She stood fierce, glaring up at him, “You’ve chosen to be a man I cannot be with, a bad man-a crook. I can’t keep waiting for you to wake up and see the truth.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>        Then the door opened, Mary’s father joining the feuding couple on the front porch, already enraged to see Arthur without knowing the context. “What is that bastard doing here?” Her father chastised. Mary wiped some of her tears, “Nothing Daddy, he was just leaving.” Mary’s father wasn’t satisfied with her answer, pushing her out of the way and squaring up to Arthur. Unlike usual, Mary did not attempt to defend Arthur, escaping the confrontation by slipping back into her home. “You have no business being here boy.” Her father growled. For Arthur, the words would simply not come out, the early signs of regret creeping over him and poisoning his thoughts. Mary’s father looked him over, knowing exactly why Arthur was here, an amused chuckle leaving his lips, “You got stones boy, I’ll give you that. If you ever thought I’d be willing to give Mary away to you, then you’re dumber than you look. Now, if you were anything like Barry Linton, I’d happily give her away to you…but you aren’t are you? You’re just a pathetic no good farm boy with a gun. Now you best get the hell off my property before I have you arrested.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>             Arthur would have beat him to a pulp, yet his love for Mary prevented him from doing so. He exchanged a hateful glance with her father before storming down the small flight of stairs onto the gravel entrance. The walk to his car was short, but to Arthur, the journey could not have been longer. Every step reminded him that this would be the last he would see of Mary in a long time or perhaps be the last time he ever saw her. Somehow, Arthur managed to drive away, imprisoning the romantic and sensitive side of himself for good. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>     “You ok there hun?” Sass' voice pried Arthur from his reminiscing. Arthur cleared his throat, straightening his posture before meeting his gaze, “Yeah…did you remember his name by chance?” Sass sensed the pain in Arthur’s voice, but he knew better than to pry, “Ashleigh…and you’re in luck. Prick just ordered his first round of drinks for the night.” Arthur followed Sass’ finger, spotting an overweight man with red hair, his face already turning a shade of pink from drinking. Before Arthur got a chance to do anything, Javier suddenly grasped his shoulder, “Arthur, we gotta get out of here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>           The wail of police sirens overpowered the music, red lights illuminating the doorway, and causing the patrons to stampede. Police started filing in, beginning to arrest whoever they could catch. The O’Driscoll must have been sober enough, frantically making a mad dash towards the back exit. “That’s him, don’t let him get away!” Arthur shouted to Javier, pushing through the crowd to pursue him. Javier ran after Arthur, and the two managed to push and shove their way to the backdoor. The O’Driscoll hurried out the door into the alleyway, Javier pushing through the door first before Arthur. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>             However, the screams of Sass stopped Arthur, and he turned to see the bartender being cuffed. “Arthur come on!” Javier encouraged, waiting in the alleyway. For some reason Arthur would not budge, watching the policeman throw Sass to the ground while hurling slurs at him. “You go on ahead, I’ll catch up!” Arthur whipped back around. Javier did not have time to question Arthur, turning his sights back on chasing after the O’Driscoll. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>               “You sick fucks disgust me.” One of the officers spat, giving the subdued bartender a kick in the ribs. Sass cried in pain, doing his best to tune out the cruel behavior of the police. Then suddenly, the horrible sound of a fist connecting with bone caught his attention, one of the officers falling down hard after Arthur punched him. The other officer pulled his gun, but Arthur quickly disarmed him, choking the officer until he passed out. Thankfully the chaos of it all gave Arthur cover, his hands fiddling with the handcuff keys until he managed to free Sass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>           Sass did not know what to say, but Arthur did not give him a chance to ply him with thank you’s. “Go on get out of here!” Arthur shouted. Sass did not disobey, scurrying off while Arthur returned to his original plan. “Hey, stop!” An officer ordered. Arthur ignored the demand of the policeman continuing on to his mad dash. He charged his shoulder into the backdoor, booking it down the maze of alleyways in hopes of finding Javier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>         When Arthur passed by one of the dark alleys, somehow he heard Javier’s slightly hushed voice call to him, so he quickly turned back around. In the trash littered alley, Javier had the O’Driscoll gagged with a gun to his head, the man shaking and whimpering against the gag. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” Arthur panted. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Well, you have made it to the end of the chapter, congratulations! I'm relatively new to AO3, so the formatting might not be the best-still trying to figure it out. I'll be posting the more chapters soon! The format of the story will be switching in between each character and getting their point of view on certain events, along with that we get an insight into that particular character's life. Even if a character has been covered already, most likely they will be revisited again in a later chapter. Thank you for stopping by, and remember outlaws for life!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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